


of new things (and a person)

by goldfinchex



Series: scenes from a modern au [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Office, Byleth has a twin here, F/F, Fluff, Hangovers are the worst, I offer some pre-relationship domesticity, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:14:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26788048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldfinchex/pseuds/goldfinchex
Summary: Edelgard is a new intern in the office hoping tomake itbut perhaps, Byleth Eisner presents an unexpected distraction. (It's not unwelcome, though.)
Relationships: Edelgard von Hresvelg/My Unit | Byleth
Series: scenes from a modern au [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1955896
Comments: 3
Kudos: 39





	of new things (and a person)

It’s a team-building exercise.

This is what Edelgard is told on her second day at work, sweating slightly from the oppressive summer heat. Her blouse and navy blazer combo did nothing to alleviate the heat. It probably worsened it, in fact. A few stray strands of pale hair have escaped from the confines of her bun, much to her dismay.

She wishes, again, that she thought to drop by the pharmacy to buy some oil-blotting paper. But she had already been running late, not least due to an unfortunate case of the bus breaking down. She could hear Hubert’s dark chuckle from a continent away. _Public transport._ Ah, yes, how dreadful. The city’s public transport system doesn’t _usually_ fail her, of all things…

As an intern hoping to make it into the company, she can’t afford to mess up. She already knows that _everyone_ thinks she was going to just hitch a ride into her father’s company and cruise her way to the top. Goddess. The very _indignity_ of that suggestion.

Her father had raised a grey eyebrow when she put her foot down.

Out of the eight older siblings before her who had any _vague_ inclination for business or numbers – and in her case, both – she is the only one to decline an offer into any of the companies within Hresvelg Holdings. But she’s the 10th child and will probably never have to inherit the entire conglomerate. She’s not even sure how the entire company’s structure _worked_.

So even though he frowned when she made her declarations loudly at the dinner table to the sudden cessation of forks and knives scraping against plates, he consented.

He hadn’t quite expected it when she rambled off a list of other criteria. None of his other children had quite _asked_ to be practically written off while she _pursues this little project_. (There’s an implicit _maybe she’ll tire of this?_ that she has bristled at.)

She isn’t insane enough to not use the Hresvelg accounts to put a roof over her head. But she insisted on a shoebox in a quieter neighbourhood, away from the higher rents of the city centre. Her friends, most of them he _private_ _liberal arts_ type, don’t really _understand_ what she’s doing, but they are supportive in their own ways. _Hey, we’re just a text away if you need any cash, ok?_

For her plans, Dorothea had only sighed. Dorothea thinks it’s a good exercise in empathy, at least. But Bernadetta, the consummate arts major she is, did mumble that whatever she’s doing felt a little more like an exercise in _signalling_ because her stunt isn’t going to dismantle _the system_.

Which is true.

But she has to start _somewhere_ and there’s no way that her family would _consent_ to dismantle the Hresvelg spiderweb. _Baby steps, Edelgard._

And perhaps, she is touched when Ferdinand kindly declares that _maybe_ Edelgard’s the best of them.

He follows her example and disappears into another city. Hubert has followed him, though he hasn’t _quite_ asked the elder Vestra to lock his accounts away from him; gourmet coffee doesn’t come cheap. Ordinarily, they are just a short three-hour flight away, but her voluntarily reduced means keep them apart.

She shakes her head, pulling herself back to the present, wincing as she dabs at her sweat. If all her efforts only amount to a lesson in empathy, she now knows she will push an agenda of wardrobe deregulations when she folds back into the Holdings.

She’s learned the language ever since she was a high-schooler, days where she breezed through conjugations with her arsenal of coloured pens and private tutors. She has spent the past week writing and re-writing titles and their equivalents in a table, praying that she’ll not mix any of the titles up. She can do this.

She will impress them.

Now, she would, if she wasn’t gaping at a colleague – whose name she struggles to even _remember_ – for dropping the phrase, _team-building exercise_ , on her unceremoniously.

He’s looking at her somewhat condescendingly. Like, does she not understand what _team-building exercise_ meant? He’s young, but somewhat pudgy around the stomach after… she estimates that it’s a year’s worth of post-work drinks. And perhaps years of college drinking parties.

He’s probably still a junior, damn it. It immediately grates at her and she shuts her mouth with a snap.

She understands what this is _perfectly_. Thank you very much.

But ah, she’s just an intern. She won’t have to suffer _this_ junior forever.

With that reassuring thought, she forces her face to imitate something friendlier. Won’t do to bite her superior’s head off, even if it tempts her to do so.

She is just Edelgard here. Edelgard. Even if everyone here tries to call her by her surname, many graciously accept her light suggestions of _Edelgard_ to save themselves from stumbling over the mess of consonants.

Someone claps their hands for attention. Edelgard recognises the man as one of the HR chiefs. He starts into an impassioned spiel about teamwork and corporate values and having to unite to work well for the progress of the company. Same old, same old. Is this ingrained into every company code of this country?

“…With that, we thank you for coming and hope you enjoy the programmes today. We’ll start with a summer favourite: a watermelon smashing game!”

Pardon? Did he say watermelon smashing game?

Sure enough, a hundred-odd people are standing on blue tarps in the company lobby. Watermelons she hadn’t noticed earlier are resting in a corner of the room, near the lifts.

_What?_

Edelgard is barely listening as she gapes at the watermelons.

She’s so distracted by her confusion that she doesn’t notice it when someone yells, “Let the newbie go first!” that she forgets to protest.

With that, Edelgard is unceremoniously blindfolded, squeaking as they tie a thick black sash over her eyes.

“That’s okay?” A question sounds by her side. “It shouldn’t be too tight, but we can’t have you cheating if you can see.”

She doesn’t recognise the speaker’s voice is smooth and well, _pretty_ , and a foolish part of her hopes that its owner is pretty too.

Edelgard shakes her head in the negative. “I’m fine. So…”

A bat is passed into her hands. “Hold it tightly.”

Calloused hands adjust her grip. That throws her off. City people always have pristine hands.

Before she can dwell on it any further, someone pushes her lightly.

It is undignified to say that Edelgard _stumbles_ , but her first few steps are hesitant. Where the hell did they put the watermelon? She probably lurches forward a few times too many, thinking that there was a watermelon on the ground in front of her.

She _hates_ being blinded.

(As a kid, one of her beothers locked her in a dark closet once for a good ten hours. She barely remembers the details, but she still sleeps with a night light when she can.)

The crowd hollers instructions at her, their voices all blending into a singular cacophony. She’s not even _sure_ if everyone yelling at her is from the same department. For all she knows, sabotaging another department at this summer game is fair game here.

“Left!”

“Right!”

“No, backwards!”

“Hey, new kid, don’t you know what’s left?”

But when she finds the watermelon, _at last_ , she taps on it once, lightly, and swings down with a resounding crack. The juice that splashes onto her shoes tells her that she’s found her mark. The crowd fades into silence, then a few begin to clap.

“Good job, Hresvelg!”

She takes that as her cue to remove her blindfold. The watermelon lies at her feet, split neatly in half.

Unfamiliar with the proper protocol, she bows, awkwardly, before stepping away from the watermelon.

Her department mate retrieves the bat from her. Wisely, the woman is dressed in far less than Edelgard is. Edelgard supposes that she wasn’t caught in an unfortunate case of bad traffic and had taken the opportunity to ditch her blazer, revealing a set of nicely toned arms. From her colourful hair and eyes, Edelgard wonders if she’s also from Fódlan.

When she speaks, Edelgard decides that perhaps she wasn’t. But she can now put a name to the colleague with a pretty voice. “You did well out there.”

“Ah, yes, thank you. But it’s only a beginner’s luck.” she demurs. “You are…?”

“Oh, right. I forget that you’ve not met me. I’m Eisner, Byleth Eisner.” She fishes for a business card. “Here. You’re supposed to have one of these. If you’ve not printed it already, please do.”

She knows this, and her face flushes slightly at the reminder even though she’s sure that Byleth only meant to be kind, in the way a good senior can be for their juniors. She takes the card with two hands. AH, she’s one of the subsection chiefs. Must’ve been the person who had to call in sick yesterday. Byleth looks perfectly fine to her now though – don’t people rarely take sick leaves here?

“I’m Edelgard von Hresvelg. But you may call me Edelgard.”

“Edelgard.” The name rolls neatly over Byleth’s tongue. “Hmm, if you’ve converted the rest of the office to do it, then sure. Nice to meet you. I hope your internship goes well.” As she finishes speaking, Byleth’s serious demeanour is replaced by a small smile.

Everything suddenly feels completely off balance. She wants to blame it on the heat from earlier. Edelgard has however swore to be honest with herself here. She’s simply _weak_ for pretty women with pretty smiles.

She curses her luck. The Goddess _must_ hate her. If Byleth continues being _nice_ to her, Edelgard is sure her three months here would be longer than it should have.

* * *

Her first weekly video call back to her friends is _dreadful_. They leave her with a looming verdict: it’s a _crush_!

_Edie’s crushing on her senior, again._

_Ooh, will you be telling us more about her? I would be liking to know more about someone who has caught your attention with swiftness._

_Hey Edelgard, is she pretty?_

_All of you, leave Edelgard alone._

Edelgard doesn’t take the salvation Hubert offers. Instead, she mumbles, “Do you know how _good_ she looks with her tights? It’s _unfair_.”

* * *

One morning, Edelgard wakes to a sandpaper-lined mouth and a skull-splitting headache.

Goddess above. The last time she woke up like this was at the end of her freshman year.

Actually, scratch that.

Now that she’s _slightly_ older, this feels worse. _Way_ worse. Measuring the pain of hangovers can hardly be objectively done when all she is torn between glugging down a gallon of water or spending the next day lying in a bathtub with the toilet bowl a lurch away, but _this_? This is the _worst_ hangover she has ever had. She knows it, for sure.

She tries to move her arm. So far so good. Rubs the grit out of her eyes as she opens them.

The ceiling above her isn’t the hideous mustard of her apartment that she has grown used to staring at. This one is an eggshell white, entirely plain and unassuming.

Ah. She’s lying on someone else’s bed. But… who?

She probably _should_ be panicking because waking up in a stranger’s bed is rarely a good thing. Hubert will disapprove, and must never find out. Right now, Edelgard is still too out of it to really _worry_. Nothing else below her head hurts, so it is _probably_ fine.

Groaning, Edelgard pushes herself to a sitting position, shutting her eyes for a few long seconds before she opens them again.

Her borrowed bedroom is messy, though having seen the state of Dorothea’s room on the last leg of any semester, she might as well be in a showroom right now. Personal effects and other colourful paraphernalia are scattered across surfaces, but whoever sleeps in this room clearly chucks her laundry into a hamper.

Teal hair is tangled in the hairbrush on the bedside table.

 _Ah_.

Edelgard lets out another groan. Right. Right. Right.

It’s all coming back to her now.

Another one of those weeknight company drinking sessions. A workplace culture many in this city abide by and that many bars are happy to accommodate. Edelgard usually doesn’t drink more than a glass at these things. It was the sure way to her liver’s quick death. The furthest she would go is the second one. 

But a certain colleague had just helped crack a tough client’s case and drinking _with_ her seemed like a great idea at the time. If her colleague couldn’t take the credit for her success because it is customary for her superiors to, Edelgard would at least try to celebrate it anyway. Juniors didn’t deserve to be trampled by their seniors just _because_ of some god-awful hierarchy.

The door clicks open, revealing her favourite(?) colleague stepping back into her bedroom, letting the faint sounds of the morning news filter in.

“Ah, you’re awake. Water?” Byleth Eisner offers a glass of water, which Edelgard downs gratefully. “You’re up earlier than I thought.”

Byleth Eisner’s voice is melodious. Most days, Edelgard appreciates it. She relishes it when Byleth acknowledges her existence. The woman seems to always offer her a small smile even as the other guys in the office sometimes stare at Edelgard’s foreign features. But Edelgard’s head still hurts and her stomach still tosses far too badly for her liking. Her only response is an undignified sink into the sheets, willing the bed to just swallow her whole.

Thankfully, Byleth notices her discomfort but doesn’t _mind_ it. “I’ll leave you more water. Rest up, okay?”

“I’m sorry,” Edelgard croaks as soon as her voice is able to. The raw state of her throat is a reminder of how many times she must’ve tossed her dinner-and-more up for the porcelain gods. “Thanks for—”

“It’s no matter.” Byleth dismisses her appreciation quickly. “You should get more sleep. If you need anything, I’ll be outside, in the living room.” She pauses, and if Edelgard doesn’t know better, she would think Byleth is _hesitating_. “I also hope you don’t mind if I tossed your clothes into the laundry.”

_What?_

By the time Edelgard has parsed through Byleth’s sentence, she ha slipped out again. A glance at her clothes reminded her yet again that _ah,_ right, her clothes _probably_ bore the brunt of the damage from an all-you-can-drink affair. Not for the first time, she hopes that all of that mess made their way into a receptacle connected to the delightful plumbing service.

As sleep reclaims her, all Edelgard registers is that Byleth’s oversized t-shirt with "I caught a sea bass! No, wait- it's at least a C+" printed on in the least appealing cartoony font possible smells of peaches. She will have to ask Byleth what softener she uses.

* * *

It is clear that Byleth’s apartment is meant for a family.

The living room is filled with colour. Dozens of photos are arranged on the shelf, next to rows and rows of books across a dizzy array of languages and disciplines. There are even books in _Fódlanese,_ a script she hasn’t seen outside of her own apartment for a few weeks now.

A glance at the photos tell her that Byleth has a similarly teal-haired brother. When Byleth catches her staring at a photo of her and her brother perched on their father’s broad shoulders, she promptly supplied that Byreto’s her twin.

From the photos, she gathers that Byleth _probably_ doesn’t have a mother and that makes Edelgard squirm a little; being in Byleth’s home felt a little like an invasion of privacy. It feels personal. Something that living in the sprawling Hresvelg manor doesn’t quite match. It’s not that her home is _impersonal_ , per se. With eleven children, her father’s various partners, several guests and relatives that come and go, and an army of household staff residing on the grounds, everyone has left their mark in some way or another. The Vestras, for one, have had a suite with them since time immemorial.

She pulls her wandering gaze back to herself and joins Byleth at the dining table. Staring any longer felt like intruding. And she was already _intruding_ enough.

Edelgard sinks her face into her hands. Goddess. How embarrassing. For a senior to have to rescue her and harbour her in her home like this.

“Hey, none of that.” It’s like Byleth could read her very thoughts. “Eggs? Not sure if your stomach could handle anything else. Help yourself tp want anything to drink from the fridge.”

As Byleth scrambles some eggs, Edelgard wanders over to the kitchenette. Her first thought is that it’s pretty poster _middle-class_. A fridge (she steals some apple juice), a rice cooker, and two slots of an induction cooking panel.

Minutes later, Edelgard is sipping some blessedly cold juice from a tetra pack. Byleth sits across her, typing something into her phone, the huge bowl of cereal before her half-finished.

“You know, you don’t have to drink like they do,” Byleth says, not quite looking up from her phone. “Reto and dad will be home late tonight, so feel free to lounge about until your head’s completely cool with you moving about.”

“Huh?” She pauses, mid sip. This apple juice brand is _great_. She’ll have to buy some from the supermarket the next time she goes grocery shopping. (She has been buying the same things over and over. Dorothea split her sides laughing when she told her on a group video call.)

“Reto? Byreto. My brother? Bane of my existence?”

“No, not that,” Edelgard wants to roll her eyes. It’s obvious enough who the moniker is referring to. “I meant the drinking. I’m fine, I wanted to drink.”

Byleth doesn’t quite look fully convinced by her insistence. She sets her phone down.

“It’s tough fitting in here. Frankly, I’m not quite sure _why_ you wanted to work here when anywhere in Fódlan’s a pretty decent place to work in, but here? If you had to drink like they do all the time you’d kill your liver. Besides, you’re an intern. You’ll move on eventually. No use killing your liver over that.” Byleth is frowning as she says this.

“Look, you’re right. I needed a breath of fresh air—”

“Another _continent_ , though?” Byleth interjects. “I’ve always wanted to go back to Fódlan.”

“Then why don’t you?” She winces when the question slips from her mouth. Was that too personal? A bone in Edelgard’s jaw, the one conditioned by years of proper upbringing, aches.

Byleth doesn’t seem to mind, at least. The frown fades, replaced by a small smile. “Guess I’ve grown used to this place. I don’t even know anyone in Fódlan anymore… except maybe Leonie, but that’s more through dad…”

Edelgard is familiar enough with her colleague to know that Byleth will continue musing aloud for a good while if she continues. So she clears her throat, catching Byleth’s attention.

“Ah, right. Anyway, that’s neither here nor there. This conversation is about you. Take this as a senior to junior thing, or well, since we both hail from the same continent. I’m just saying that it’s not easy to earn their estimation. You can drink with them as much as you like, but you’re still a girl, and a foreigner at that.” Byleth shakes her head, sadly. “It’s hard.”

Edelgard’s surprised by her bluntness, and points that out. 

Byleth only shakes her head again, smiling ruefully. “Look, I don’t _mean_ to be discouraging. But hey, if you’re looking to get somewhere in this country? It’ll take time. And since you’ll have to go back to school like, soon, that’s not gonna happen. Even if you’re fantastic at smashing watermelons.”

“I am?”

“Yeah, our manager was surprised. Don’t get me wrong, he was thrilled that our department won. But newbie wasn’t expected to be good at smashing things like that. You had good form.”

“Er, thanks?” Edelgard’s not sure if she should be flattered that her watermelon smashing skills aren’t subpar. “I had classes in swordplay, and I used to go to an axe-throwing gym. Maybe that helped?”

“Swords!” Byleth perks up at the word. “What do you do?”

It’s like she’s a completely different person now. Gone is that slightly dulled look in her pretty blue eyes from when they were talking about their company. Byleth’s eyes are shining, her back pulled straight as she peers at Edelgard with sudden interest. It’s a disarming look, something too open and honest.

“I started with Kendo. That’s why I started studying the language so badly when I was a teen. Wanted my instructors to know I was _serious_ about it all.” She sighs, admitting it aloud feels juvenile. “It’s a little dumb, isn’t it?”

Okay, she was also trying to prove that she wasn’t just a rich Fódlanese brat that didn’t care about _culture_ or whatever. There’s more to being _her_ than being terribly mediocre at horseback polo, even if most of her siblings excelled at it. Edelgard has since relented that perhaps, she fared better at sports when she isn’t _off_ the ground. Swordplay and tennis worked out fine for her. Anything equestrian made her pity her mount. Thinking about her early kendo days made her cringe a little still. She had been _such_ a tryhard, Goddess above.

Edelgard is happy to listen to Byleth just _ramble_ on about swords before she slips into personal anecdotes. She and her twin had forgone most of the usual school circles for sword fighting classes, much to the chastisement of the various educational institutions they had been enrolled in. Never mind that Byleth dragged her sword fighting kit around with her into classroom even in the days she was still wearing her miniskirt with knee-length socks. Some of the older male teachers were decidedly not fans of Byleth’s preference for a violent sport. Feedback was given to Mr Jeralt Eisner accordingly.

Byleth recounts all this with a laugh. “Dad couldn’t stop himself from rolling his eyes in my last year of high school. Goddess. My teacher _fumed_ for a week. Byreto got extra cleaning duties for like, _forever_ , though it could also be because he orchestrated some dumb prank with his friends.”

Edelgard decides that she likes this unguarded ease Byleth has in her own home. And that Byleth is somehow sharing more about herself with her, for reasons Edelgard can’t fathom.

Their conversation devolves into other things. It’s mostly Byleth who talks, with Edelgard’s light prompting and nods here and there.

Byleth tries a little bit of Fódlanese, though her accent makes Edelgard snigger.

At Byleth’s pout, Edelgard hastily apologises. “We can practise if you’d like.” Goddess, she’s _cute_. It’s utterly unfair.

The pout vanishes as soon as it appears. “I’d love that.” Byleth taps her fingers on the table, contemplating. “I have to do something for you in return…”

“No, it’s okay. I don’t mind. It’ll be nice to have someone around me to speak with.”

“Hey, I can’t just take advantage of the intern like this. You’re already stuck as the office’s default translator on top of your usual duties.” Byleth’s expression is stern now. “Don’t think I’ve not noticed the extra work they’ve been giving you.”

Edelgard sighs, nodding. She does get a million translation tasks a day. Why did people bother with getting translation certifications when being able to speak the language defaults you to doing that job anyway?

“Tell you what. If you want to come by the dojo, feel free to do that? You’re making like peanuts – are they even _paying_ you? – and swords don’t really come cheap so if you miss stabbing someone with a weapon, my dad’s friend owns the place…”

Byleth doesn’t need to know that if she _really_ wanted to she could probably buy the entire dojo. That Byleth offered a fair deal touched her, somewhat.

“I’d love to,” Edelgard cuts in, saving Byleth from continuing on a longer explanation.

She feels Byleth's relief through her lopsided smile. The expression knots her stomach together again, leaving it all tight and light.

**Author's Note:**

> So this was originally going to be an attempt at an Edeleth Week I saw on Twitter, but I only found out about it like... yesterday(?) or something. I might do more with the other prompts though.
> 
> Will hopefully churn out a part ii (written more in a companion one-shot manner, given my current college deadlines pile. I blame this on being 1 year late to discovering FE3H and consequently just binging too much content, RIP.) 
> 
> Trying my hand out at the FE3H fandom for the first time, and it was fun! Getting into a new character's head is quite unfamiliar for me, but it's been interesting so far. Feel free to look for me on Twitter @goldfinchex (and see me just cry about Red Velvet).


End file.
